Don't You Know Why You Need Him Loving You?
by xDatxEverythingxFangirlx
Summary: Murdoc Niccals the Great is known for beating his singer, 2-D, senseless. However, during one attack, Murdoc starts to see things in a different light, and, he starts to realize this boy he so mercilessly beats on has feeling, too. What will happen when Murdoc starts to figure out his own?


"Murdoc..." The voice calling out to the unconscious, green-skinned whore of a man was high, almost whiny.

"Ugh...ngh... w-wha...? I'm u', I'm up..." His voice seemed groggy, slow. Like the peeling of his eyes opened. His reflexes were faulted when their master was intoxicated and in a condition such as this.

"Yew pathed ou' on the floor again..." the male above himself, Murdoc quickly came to realize, was none other than his dullard vocalist, Stuart 'Two Dents' Pot.

"Yeh, yeh... Mmmmm... Bug off, FaceAche... Lemme sleep s'more..." The elder resorted to curling up on his side, groaning and attempting to re-enter that state of blissful slumber by ignoring the younger. Of course, like every other day of the Bassist's life, he'd gotten Shit-Faced, and sleeping was a way he liked to pass the hangovers after he blacked out. It was usually day when he woke up, and if he had remaining symptoms of a hangover, he'd wish to gauge his own eyes out. Hence why he always tried to sleep it off. And, sometimes, the other members, (who ever happened to stumble upon him sleeping on the floor wherever he was) would close out the lights. But, that wasn't the case right now. Not in the least.

"Bu' Murdoc... I can' ge' around you to ge' in the Kitchen-"

"Mmmm!" He groaned out audibly, face twisting with clear agitation. "Wewl, tha's juss' too bloo'y damn bad, ISN'T IT!?"

"Th-th-thorry!" The vocalist squeaked timidly, instinctively moving his arms to protect his head . Poor Stu. He was afraid of the human...well, demon he idolized the most. Terrified, to be more than accurate. Every time he tried to show kindness, or be sincere and caring, every time he tried to suggest what he thought a brilliant idea, (at least, for himself) he was shot down, rather it be by cold and hateful words or a violent attack that was more often than not short lived. It was only intensified when they were alone. When Russ was around, it was less livid, not as bad. Because Murdoc knew Russel Hobbs COULD and WOULD hit him. The oaf sort of frightened the Satanist. He was short, but extremely burly. He held power within his weight that Murdoc so constantly mocked, and his temper was building, bound to break one day.

"Mmm...now, 'ows abou' you be a good li'l FaceAche an' bug off..."

"C-come on, Mudth, A'LEATHT lemme ge' you to a couch..." In a nearly fearful way, the azure-haired male bent down, removing his hands from their protective hold on his head to offer his own oddly large and bony hand to his "Companion" in an attempt to get the drunk out of the kitchen doorway.

"Sweet Satan, you dullard... Why must I move...?"

"Y-you're blockin' the way to the kitchen..." Hesitantly, Murdoc took the offered hand of his first band mate, sighing irritably. With a bit of struggle, 2-D managed to pull the man up and onto his feet. The Raven-Haired troll hobbled and staggered a few steps, before crashing into the lanky male that helped him up, and, Stuart barely managed to catch the Bassist, grunting. Finally, the shorter man just hooked his arm around the other's shoulders, leaning into him for support. Complying, the boy started to walk like this, with foot falls slow, so Murdoc could keep up with more ease and less stumbling, decreasing their chances of falling.

"You...don't you dare tewl... AAAAANYBODY abou' this... O-or I'wl... Ma'e your life a livin' Hell..." Stuart nodded as he thought to himself. 'You're too la'e for tha'... You've awlrea'y done it...'

The look on 2-D's face was straight, yet a bit spacy, unphased as his blood-filled eyes looked ahead, and he lost himself to his thoughts. This upset Murdoc. For God only knew why. His mismatched eyes squinted as they traveled up and settled on Stu's face, glaring daggers. His nose scrunched, and one could tell his brows, unseen, were furrowing. His mouth moved to form a bit of a snarl, and he began to speak. Slowly, threateningly.

"You... You smug bastard... You think you're be'er tha' me... Don' you...?"

"I-I... Uh, n-no, Murdoc... I never thaid any thuch fing..." The male who Murdoc had his arms around was growing nervous, and Murdoc could feel it. Now, he used that arm around Stuart's shoulder and pushed himself up higher, on his toes, forcing the vocalist to stoop down. "YOU DO, DON'T YOU!?" He was inches from Stu's face, that flushed. His breath reeked of Grey Goose, and he shot out little beads of spit as he yelled.

"N-no! I-I thwear I 'on't! P-pleathe thtop yelling!" The boy shrunk down further and further away from the aggressive, fuming bassist, to the point of nearly letting him go. He was so close to the couch, that Murdoc just dropped onto his feet again and shoved the boy forward, watching with a face that displayed the true emotion of rage. The clumbsy younger tripped by the forceful push and fell over one of the arms of the couch, face planting into a cushion while his lower legs dangled off of said arm rest, and, almost immediately as Stu rolled over, Murdoc lunged. It was oddly accurate for being so drunk, and, he landed on the bluenette, who squeaked, arms almost immediately moving to again cover his head. "M-Murdo'! Th-thtop! P-pleathe! I didn' do nofink! NOFINK!" He yelled out helplessly as the green-fleshed man now straddled him.

Murdoc's green, unwashed hands with long, chipped and painted nails, moved to grab 2-D's t-shirt by the collar, yanking the male upright. Once again, their faces were just mere inches apart. Murdoc was seething, teeth, wretched, were gritted. Poor Stu was left to stare hopelessly up to Murdoc. His mouth hung open a bit, and that gap in-between his teeth showed. Sweet Satan, that was _the straw_ that broke the camel's back. Murdoc pulled him in closer, to the point where their noses touched as he yelled. See, Noodle and Russel were clear on the opposite end of Kong, far enough for the man's yelling to be all but droned out.

"You... And that STUPID loo' on your face!" The green-skinned Satanist started on his rant in more of a growl, quieter than the previous yelling. "The STUPID way you loo' a' me when I hi' you! Like I done somethin' bad! That STUPID voice o' yours, all high pitched n' fuckin' irritating! The way you can' even think for yoursewlf! That STUPID way you get so fuckin' little girl scared when you even 'EAR mention o' a whale! That STUPID way you love nothin' but Satan fuckin' ZOMBIE MOVIES! No... I could let all that go... If you didn' bloo'y act li'e it was SOOO FUCKIN' HARD TO GE' ALONG WITH ME! And if you weren' fuckin' DRUGGED UP AWL THE GODDAMNED TIME!"

By this point, the male in Murdoc's grasp was whimpering, shuddering, and tears were welled into his hollow coal eyes. That look on Stu's face... Murdoc hated it. Yet, he loved it so damn much it made him sick. Sick to see the way he tormented this boy, all because he didn't understand his own emotions. He was taking all of his rage, and fury, and mixed up life out of this male. The scene reminded him of a time himself and his father had gotten into it one night, many years back.

"I HA'E YOU! THA' STUPID WAY YOU LOO' AT ME WHEN I HIT YOU, THAT MORONIC WAY YOU CRY AN' BEG ME TO STO'! E'ERY TIME YOU SAY YOU BLOO'Y FORGIVE ME! I AIN'T SORRY, AND YOU'RE A WORTHLESS PIECE O' SHIT AND A WASTE O' SPACE! GE' OU' O' MY FACE, YOU SORRY LI'L SHIT!" The man with a nose resembling Pinocchio smacked his own child to the ground with the back of his hand, wasting no time to throw the empty bottle of whiskey that had laid on the couch beside him at the boy. Little Murdoc yelped as it hit him in the side, hands protectively holding his head. His mismatched eyes were brimmed with tears that he unsuccessfully fought back. When he sat up, his father was back on the couch. He wiped a bit of blood from his nose onto the back of his hand, and when Sebastian Jacob Niccals saw this, he grew furious. Almost immediately, he shot back up, grabbing the lad by his hair and shoving him face first into one of the shitty house's concrete walls, grinding the boy's face against it. Murdoc screamed and cried out, as his face was practically sanded away. After a short moment of the exhausting punishment, the father let go, and, Murdoc peeled his bloody face from the wall, sniffling a bit as his hand made contact to the side where his face had been scraped. It was bloody.

"Go 'o your room, you dirty fuck..." The man commanded, and, the male in the tattered Pinocchio costume hobbled up the stairs and to his bedroom, where he flopped onto his bloody and dirty bed. No sheets, just a pillow and mattress on a bed frame. It was no sooner than he'd gotten upstairs than he heard his older brother make his way into the house. He had a few years on his seven year-old half sibling. Soon enough, he could hear their father already starting back up, reeling off and punching his older son, before delivering a few sharp kicks of his booted-foot to the male who'd been knocked to the ground. When he himself made it to the bedroom he shared with his brother, he scowled and glared. Hannibal was a little bloody, and bruised all over, like Murdoc. When he caught a glimpse of his brother's face, he smirked a bit, spitting some blood to the side. "Looks li'e you really 'ad it coming~ Wha'dya do this time, DumbArse?"

Murdoc remained silent, giving no sort of reply in the least. No way he wanted to tell his sibling about this. He hated the boy, unlike his father. He'd try to earn the mans love. To make him see that he was a person, and he just craved love and affection. One day, maybe Sebastian Jacob Niccals would realize this. 'Till then, he'd have his head stuck up his own ass. But, that was fine with Murdoc.-  
Maybe that's the way Stu was. Murdoc had spaced off during his memory, leaving the singer dazed and confused. He didn't want a beating, but, at the same time, he wanted to make sure Murdoc was okay.

"M-Murdoc...? A-are yew... Awrigh'...?"

"...Yeah..." It took a while for the Raven-Haired man to come back to reality, and, when he did, he almost immediately got off of Stuart. He stood fine, now. That flash back had well woken him up. Murdoc shoved his hands into the pockets of his black jeans, and started to walk off, Cuban boots clicking on the floor as he did. It was silent. He said no words, and, it made 2-D Worry. 'Wha' 'appened to 'im...?'


End file.
